The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 3, No. 93, Ed. 1 Monday, October 11, 1915 Page: 2 of 4
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: Oklahoma Digital Newspaper Program and was provided to The Gateway to Oklahoma History by the Oklahoma Historical Society.
Extracted Text
The following text was automatically extracted from the image on this page using optical character recognition software:
NORMAN DAILY TRANSCRIPT
Blue Blood andlellow
B.y EDWI$ BLISS
SEVENTH STORY
i.
"Well, young star-gazer, Is it comln'
jo an end?"
"Not tonight, father—It all looks
pretty steady."
"1 can't seem to understan' It an'
I guess 1 never will. The only people
1 ever hern on as looked at stars al-
ways had somethin' excitln' t' report
Here you been a-looking an' a-looking
night after njght go'n' on five year
now, an' the best I ever hear your re-
port was one night two year agone
when y'come in as tho the moon had
gone to y'hcad an' shouts, "T'night—
t'night!—an' 1 ses 'wot t'night?' an'
you ses "the comet o' course," Jest like
y's s'prised at my not knowin'! Then
! goes an' stays up all night, an' me
abendin' o' my back all that day lay-
in' brick faster'n Donohue c'd slap on
the plaster, an' the danged old comet
don't show up. I doan' b'lieve in 'em
—they're onreliable, an' no way o'
holdin' to agreements."
The young man laughed, an Indul-
gent, affectionate laugh.
"Producing comets at a moment's
notice isn't one of man's accomplish-
ments, father. You see (laughingly),
comets have wills of their own, and
are governed by forces beyond our
control—now. The best we can do
now is to watch the heavens closely
and learn by the stars what very
probably will happen. Some day we'll
learn their secrets -some day!" Ills
line face glowed, lit up with the en-
thusiasm of his youth and aspiration.
"Some day—!"
"There, there, now. I waren't
anieanin' t' be disbeleavln' 'r discour-
agin'. Jest a harmless bit o' ol' man's
foolery. Don't you mind me, young
man You go on with y'r star-gazin'
Some day y'll catch 'em up to some-
thin' tricky, an' (hen report 'em an'
make a name f'r y'self."
Paul loved and respected his old
father with that tender devotion and
consideration that only tine natures
aro capable of, and he thought with a
pang of regret as he paced gravely the
Ill-appointed room that his recent ac-
ceptance of the post as astronomer at
the great mountain observatory would
separate him from his kindly, genial,
Illiterate old father—this dear old
chum, as he had come to consider him.
The thought of leaving liis father
was not, however, tho only thing that
would make his leaving sad—for, as
he paced and gazed, his mind traveled
forward to a gray, high-towered ob-
servatory on a lonely peak in the
mountains—a peak that would be to
him doubly lonely without Anita Lo-
gan. They had come to be great
friends, this bricklayer's Bon and the
helresB to a fortune. They had gone
on and on in their youthful, enthusi-
astic Intimacy, until there had come
to be such a bond between them that
Paul looked longingly, hopefully, fear-
fully to the day when he would re-
ceive his appointment and ask her to
b« his wife.
He had put it off, and put it off—
and tomorrow he was to leave! To-
morrow! The thought Btartled him,
as his browsing, dreamy mind became
aware of the necessity for quick, defl-
nit• action. lie went to the 'phone,
desperately resolute, und called her
number.
"Hello, Miss Logan, please. Mr.
Reed speaking. Hello, Ann, is that
you? This is Paul. You know I've
received my appointment today? Yes.
Thanks. I'm leaving tomorrow, May
I come up? Oh, tine!—and may I
bring my father? I'd like you to
meet him. All right, in half an hour.
Good-by."
Anita Logan, twenty-four, and her
Bister Hess, eighteen, were Joint heirs
to the great Logan fortune. Old John
Logan, as he was known on the ex-
change, had been a banker of spec-
tacular success, and had left behind
him on his death at the age of fifty-
two, two charming daughters and an
enormous fortune.
Bess, the younger, was still at
school In the East Anita had finished
her college course four years before,
and was now installed in the great
Logan mansion alone, save for her
retinue of servants. Anita Logan was
mentally limited and narrow in one
essential direction. She was obsessed
with the conviction of class distinc-
tion.
When Paul and his father arrived,
Anita received them with unusually
hospitable graclousness.
"This is my father, Ann. Father,
Miss Anita Logan, who lias been such
a good friend to me."
"Oh, there he goes, being grateful
again! 1 won't stand for It—not this
evening." (Or any other, Paul
thought.) "So pleased to meet you,
Mr. Reed. You're also to be congrat-
ulated, I think."
"Thank y' miss." The splendor of
the room in which they were received
had disconcerted him on entering, and
put him immediately at more of a dis-
advantage that he would otherwise
have been, lie felt very 111 at ease.
Anita and Paul spoke of all things
relative to Paul's work, his past strug-
gles, his present appointment, his fu-
ture hopes—spoke of everything but
the one thing that made Ilia heart
(Copyright, 1915, by Pathu Exchange. Inc. All Moving Picture Rights and all For-
eign Copy right* Strictly Reserved.)
pulse wildly, and fought for expression
on his feverish lips.
"Ann." —softly, intensely.
"Yes, Paul."
"1 love you, Ann Love you, and
thought you must know. Tomorrow
I leave for the mountains. Tomor-
row! And I want to know now. There
will be plenty for us two; we won't
need any more. Oh! Ann, will you?"
She was by this time so confused,
bo torn between her desire to say
"yes" and her conviction that she
must not, that she welcomed the In-
terruption made by Paul's father.
He had arisen, unable to bear the
dignified magnificence of It any long-
er, and without a word of explana-
tion or an "excuse me," had shuttled
over to French window and, opening
It, stepped out into the garden.
Paul, distracted for a moment by
his father's unmannerly exit, but eas-
ily accounting for it, turned to Anita
and lavghed Indulgently. But her
struggling soul only needed this show
of unmannerliness, this patent lack
of culture, this Btiff, clumsy uneasi-
ness in his father, to bolster its fast
slipping conviction of class distinc-
tion. She was herself again in a
moment, and when he turued to her
for an answer, said:
"I'm not sure, Paul—I can't say,
now. You must give me time. I'll
tell you when."
II.
Alfred Scott, blua-blooded aristocrat,
and last surviving member of the
noted Josephus Scott family, was
blase at thirty. His father. Rankin
Scott, had died when Alfred was Just
twenty-one, and had left his only son
in care of his large estate. Alfred
was no more fitted for handling
a large fortune (or a small one, for
that matter) than for building a
bridge. He had placed the property
in the hands of a large real estate tirm,
and was content to sit back and take
what profits they Baw fit to give him,
unquestionlngly. However, although
he was not capable of handling a large
estate, he was capable of handling
ready cash.
Things had taken a turn for the bad,
lately. Following an unnatural boom
Ion the Btrength of which he had con-
The Bricklayer's Son Proposes to the
Millionaire's Daughter.
fracted prodigious debts), real estate
had rapidly depreciated in value, and
the returns on his holdings were un-
usually small. This fact, combined
with the fact that his outstanding
debts were unusually large, and IiIb
creditors unusually active, had made
him cast about for an avenue of escape
that would clear his every path of dun-
ning tradespeople and at the same
time allow him to continue his life of
luxurious extravagance In the accus-
tomed way. Marriage seemed the
only way out, and the eligible list, that
is, the people of any (bank book) ac-
count, was markedly limited. In fact,
there was only one In town whose for-
tune was reassuring enough to com-
pensate for the disadvantages of re-
stricted hours and a life half taken up
in leaving and receiving cards. He
had decided to "risk it," as he pre-
sumptuously phrased it to himself, and
accordingly, a few months irjfore, had
started to make frequent calls at the
Logan mansion, in an effort to become
"better acquainted."
Ml.
His calls were received hospitably
at first, and as they continued, gra-
ciously. He was of the best stock in
that part of the country, and as the
only surviving member of a family
whose ancestors were traced back to
the Landing of the Pilgrims, he was
assured a reception and respect from
Anita Logan (that worshiper at the
shrine of aristocracy) his accomplish-
ments would never have entitled him
to.
Scott had decided that the time was
ripe for "protesting his love" and
called the day after Paul and his fa-
ther had been at the Logan mansion.
Anita looked up quickly as he ap-
proached, her face brightening at the
sight of his well-groomed appearance,
and utter lack of the self-conscious-
ness so evident In people of less breed-
ing.
He dropped gracefully Into the seat
beside her, and gently led the talk to
personal matters. "Miss Logan," he
«aid, "I have a question to ask, and on
its answer will depend my whole fu-
ture. The Scotts have never been men
of many words, and though our pas
sions are less volatile than are those of
the great majority"—with a deprecat
ing wave of his hand—"they have the
quality of steadiness and endurance.
I'm one of the old Scotts—the last of
the old Scotts, I should say (how fine
that sounded) and 1 assure you that
in asking for your hand I do It with
all the sincerity and respect a Scott
can be capable of. Will you marry
me?"
"Yes—Alfred," she said, blushing up
at him, and In a moment she felt the
dispassionate embrace and Judicial
kiss of the last highly evolved mem-
ber of the ancient family of Scott.
She felt he might have shown some
emotion, if ever so little, at this, the
greatest moment of their lives; but
was reassured with the thought that
his high breeding and tine origin more
than compensated for the lack of any
momentary display of passion.
"I have my car at the door, Alfred
It's been waiting for me for over an
hour. Will you ride with me^ out into
the country? We can be alone. I feel
we should be alone today."
"As you wish, dear. I shall be de-
lighted."
"Then go out and wait for me at the
gate. I Bhan't be a minute. 1 want
to get some wraps."
She went with swift, glad steps to-
ward the house and he sauntered
languidly to the gate.
When he reached the sidewalk, his
gentle, delicate nature was shocked at
the sight of John Huff, his tobacco-
nist, and one of his many creditors, in
an attitude denoting deliberate wait-
ing.
"Mr. Scott, sir. I've taken the lib-
erty—"
"I should say you had taken a
liberty," Scott cut in. "How dare you,
sir!"
"But," pleadingly, "this bill has been
running for eight months now, and I
have bills I myself must meet."
"1 can't talk of this matter now."
Then, suddenly, as he saw a nasty
glint harden the other's eye, "Listen,
Huff," in a conciliatory tone, "and
don't let this go any further '—confl-
dentally—"I expect to marry the mis-
tress of this house very shortly," with
a look of subtle assurance, "and then
I shall settle in full. In the mean-
time, don't make yourself evident. Go
away now."
A moment later Anita, dressed for
motoring, and looking infinitely hap-
py, appeared at the gate.
IV.
They rode a great distance, through
small towns and sleepy villages, way
on up into the mountains, and arriv-
ing at the village of Haslon about two
o'clock in the afternoon. The car
was crawling slowly along the main
street when their attention was at-
tracted to a low red brick building,
the only brick building they had thus
far seen In the town.
"I wonder what that is. It seems
out of place here," she laughed.
"Courthouse, probably," he said;
and then, struck with a sudden
thought, "I say, Ann, wouldn't it be
a lark to go in there and get mar-
ried—right now!
They went; and, when she rode
home again in the sweet pink glow
of a June evening, it was as the wife
of Alfred Scott, the last of the noble
old family of Scotts!
They were met at the gate by her
butler.
"Miss Logan, ma'am. There's a
man in the library, ma am, who says
he wants to see you. Very important
business, he says."
"Did he tell you his name?"
"Yes'm. Rodgers," he said. "Henry
Rodgers."
"Oh. to be sure. Rodgers. He's my
attorney."
When they reached the library,
Henry Rodgers rose from his chair
and bowed courteously.
"Good evening, Miss Logan. I
shouldn't have awaited your coming
so persistently only in going over
your father's will again today I hap-
pened on a clause which, I'm sorry
to say, has hitherto escaped my at-
tention."
"What is it?" she asked nervously.
"Why it's in the nature of a re-
strictive clause, Miss Logan. It pro-
vided that if either you or your sis-
ter marry before reaching the age of
twenty-five, you forfeit your share of
the fortune."
Anita as stunned at this startling
disclosure, and for a moment was
speechless. Then she turned quickly,
confidently to her husband, and
found his eyt-s intent upon her. His
face had gone suddenly pale, his eye-
brows were contracted in fear, and
his lips pressed into a tight line of
mute warning for her to be silent, as
his head shook ever so little — just
suggestively—from side to side.
"Very well, Mr. Rodgers, but we
should have known this before. You
will wire immediately to my sister,
please."
He howed, walked toward the door,
they following. Scott bent low and
whispered into Anita's ear, "We must
keep quiet, Ann—for your sake."
She smiled up at him radiantly,
and catching hold of his arm pressed
it impulsively, a token of her appre-
ciation for his Infinite consideration.
V.
The next morning Ann received a
telegram from her Bister Hess in the
East. "Ordered to take rest in moun-
tains. Too much study. Will be home
in a day."
Bess arrived late that night, and
her appearance, poor as it was, im-
mediately banished her sister's appre-
hension.
"So you thought I was half dead,"
she said laughingly. "My, what a
nervous dear old motherly sister you
are! It's only weakness, Ann. Too
much books. Too much grind. A
week in the mountains will fix me up
tip-top. Worked like a beaver—like
a school of beavers, or don't they come
that way?—for those mid-term tests.
When can we start?"
"Any time you say, dear. In the
morning, If you feel up to It."
"Oh, 1 feel up to It all right. Lots
better than I was two days ago.
"We'll Btart in the morning "
The next morning early, Ann
phoned to Scott, telling of her sis-
ter's arrival, and their intended trip.
"Won't you come?" she asked.
"Rather risky, don't you think?
Likely to cause talk."
"You won't have to come with us.
Listen. You come over this morning
as soon as you can. I'll tell Bess I've
invited you to a little informal break-
fast in honor of her home-coming,
and you c*n meet \er. You may
speak of your proposed trip, for to-
morrow, say, up to the mountains,
and then we'll be surprised and tell
you we're going today. Won't that
bo Jolly? It's scheming, I know, but
it's the only way out if we're to keep
wmMm
u
"If Either You or Your Sister Marry
Before You Reach the Age of Twenty-
Five, You Lose Your Share in the
Fortune."
silent, you know. And 1 must be with
you.'
'All sight, dear. I understand per-
fectly. Be right over. Good-by."
Scott came, languid, lackadaisical,
correct to the last detail—his expres-
sionless face making a great impres-
sion on Bess, who accepted his air
of quiet authority as indicative of
the proverbial "still waters."
Tho breakfast was a complete suc-
cess in both food and talk, and Ann
felt with pleasure that her surprise
at his announcement that he was go-
ing up to the mountains was as gen-
uine as could be desired by the most
exacting critic—which B^ss wasn't
In another hour Bess and Ann,
mounted on two rangy western ponies,
had started their long ascent up the
mountainside, their point of destina-
tion being half a mile from where Paul
Reed, in his observatory, nightly
watched the heavens and saw in each
glowing star the image of his loved
one.
Scott arrived late the night of the
same day. The next morning ne
proposed a walk over the mountain
side, and was eagerly seconded by
Ann. Bess, however, wearied and
sore with the previous day's ride, an-
nounced that she was all "in,' and
would await their return at the hotel.
Ann noted witlv keen displeasure
Scott's disappointment at Bess' an-
nouncement, and was further vexed
when he proposed that they stay and
keep Bess company. His attention, his
solicitude for Bess was, she felt, pass-
ing the confines of an effort to be
agreeable.
Bess wouldn't hear of their stay-
ing behind, so they started for their
stroll together. Alfred, disappointed
at Bess' absence, and Anu anxious
and trying mentally to laugh away
the fears that played shadowlike but
persistent in her mind. They took
a narrow footpath tWat wound its way
around the mountainside, hugging
tightly the wall to their left, for in
some places on their right the path
stopped abruptly and the cliff side
fell sheer away into sickening space.
Anita had come up close behind
him panting, but supple and eager,
her fine young frame moving in quick
graceful strides along the trail. Sud-
denly ne was aware of the sound of
loosened pebbles rolling down the
cliff behind him—heard her startled
cry—felt her tense, desperate grip on
his arm as she lost her footing.
VI.
Turning half way around, he saw
that siie was hanging half over the
cliffside, her face pale and horror-
stricken, her only hope for life, out-
side of a miracle—centering itself in
her grip on his arm. He saw at a
glance the almost sheer declivity of
the mountain side, and a sickening
dread overcame him as he thought of
what it would mean, should his
strength be not great enough to hold
out. He would be carried over the
side of the cliff with the one clinging
to him! His foot slipped slightly,
dislodging a pebMe that bounced its
echoing way down the mountain-
side. A horrible, cold dread was on
him. Ills feet were slipping! With
a quick, fearful, desperate stroke he
struck her hand from his arm, and,
shrinking back against the wall,
watched her start on her downward
slide, dragging a host of rattling peb-
bles in her wake.
She had gild about fifty feet when
her outstretched, frantically-grasping
hand closed around a tough twig
deep rooted in the earth. She stopped
abruptly, luckily having caught a
grip there, for a few feet below her
the slope stopped abruptly on a
chasm yawning wide.
She looked appealingly, beseech-
ingly at her husband, shrunk tight,
horror-stricken against the wall.
Her plight, however, was not affect-
ing her reason, as she thought when
she was aware of his change of ex-
pression; the change was actual, and
due to the fact that his ear had caught
the sound of approaching footsteps
along the hard, narrow path. These
footsteps became more and more dis-
tinct, until a man appeared around
the bend in the trail. This man was
Paul Reed.
At first he saw only Scott, dread-
fully pale and nervous looking; then,
following Scott's gaze down the cliff-
side, he went icy cold with terror for
a moment. Had he been better bred,
had the same blue blood which so
distinguished Alfred Scott flowed in
his veins, his terror might have last-
ed indefinitely, and Anita have plunged
into the bottomless canyon. But he
was vulgar, emotional, impulsive, and
his poor brain, a product of centuries
of nondescript admixture, took in the
situation comprehensively, and had
only realized the one course open a
moment before his unpoised body had
started to crawl carefully down to
where Anita held on with a last des-
pairing grip.
In a moment his strong grip was
around her, and he began slowly,
warily, laboriously, to fight his way
back to the path. Scott's panic, mean-
time, had abated considerably, and
continued to abate the nearer the man
and his burden came, and when they
were almost to the edge of the trail,
half-way over it in fact, he bent and
relieved Paul of Anita's weight, Paul
managing to drag himself exhausted
to the road.
She turned simply and said, "Thank
you, Paul." She could say no more.
So, taking Scott's proffered arm, she
walked slowly away, leaving Paul
standing puzzled, incomprehending, in
the middle of the trail.
VII.
John Huff was tired of waiting.
Huff was the tobacconist, creditor of
Alfred Scott, whom Scott, a few days
previously had silenced in his demands
for payment by telling him that he
would shortly be betrothed to Anita
Logan, when his various debts would
be settled.
It was the morning of the second
day that he called at the Logan man-
sion and learned that Anita had gone
up into the mountains with her sister,
to spend a week there. Accordingly,
he took the first train, and by noon
arrived at the hotel in which Ann and
her sister were stopping. He learned
there that Ann and the young man
lately appointed astronomer at the
mountain observatory had left a half
hour ago for a walk down the moun-
tain side, and he set out immediately
to overtake them.
The life-saving incident of the day
before, and Anita's cold, formal
' Thank you,' had been a bit too much
for Paul Reed.
He had some important dutieB to
attend the next morning, and could
not free himself of them until eleven
o'clock He then set out for the moun-
tain hotel, only half a mile distant, his
spirit troubled, his mind anxious and
on the defensive against a maze of
complications he scented but knew
nothing of definitely.
VIII.
He met her alone, on the porch.
Bess and Scott had gone for a walk
together.
'Good morning, Ann"—awkwardly.
She came forward, her lips silent,
her eyes eloquent, and held out her
hand to him. Together, as by pre-
arranged understanding, they started
to walk away from the house.
"I say, you haven't forgotten, Ann?
You promised you'd let me know. Oh,
Ann, don't you love me?"
His warm, magnetic personality, that
personality which had always made
her fearfully glad, now again woke in
her that feeling of infinite affinity
which no personal effort could over-
come.
She looked up at him, her eyes
liquid and pain-drawn.
"It can never be, Paul," she said
half chokingly.
He was about to ask that fearful
"Why?" when they became conscious
of a man approaching them. It was
Huff.
He came up, hat in hand, and bow-
ing respectfully, said to Ann, "Miss
I.ogan, my name is Huff—John Huff;
I'm a tobacconist in town, and a
creditor of Alfred Scott's. Not a large
creditor—not nearly as large as some
of them—but then I'm only a small
retailer. Scott's bill has been drag-
ging alortg now for over eight months,
and I'm anxious to get it settled. Is
there any truth in Mr. Scott's state-
ment that you will marry him and pay
his debts? He told me so two dayB
ago, and I want to know whether
there's any truth in It?"
Anita's eyes, soft and tender a mo-
ment ago, flashed with the fury of a
vengeful goddess.
"Did he tell you that?" she queried.
"Yes, miss."
"Will you leave this affair to me?"
"Yes, miss."
"Very well, then. You may go. I
shall communicate with you."
He bowed, and was gone.
Ann had, at this latest revelation
of her husband's blue blood, forgotten
Paul entirely. She started walking
quickly back, and there was that in
her stride which boded 111 for the last
of the Scotts. Paul followed behind,
keeping her ever in sight and was
surprised when at a turn In the road,
she stopped suddenly, her whole body
tense. He came up with her and saw
what had caused her to stop so
shortly.
IX.
This trail ended abruptly at the
back porch of the hotel; and from
where they stood they could see quite
plainly, Bess, seated in a large easy
chair, on the broad arm of which
Scott had perched himself. As they
watched he fondly kissed his wife's
sister.
Anita watched but for a moment;
then, running forward swiftly, fol-
lowed by Paul, she dashed up tho
steps of the porch, and stood, a torch
of wrath, confronting Scott
"You most contemptible—" The
sentence remained unfinished, her
scorn for the vile thing before her
making words futile.
"Bess," she said, turning suddenly
and trying to make her tense voice
soft, "I'm married to thiB"—with a
wave of her hand. "I've kept It se-
cret, because the fortune left us would
be forfeited, were I to marry before
I reached the age of twenty-flve. You
received a like notice, so you know."
She Bpoke quickly, anxious to get the
preliminary explanation over with, so
as to execute the action she had In
mind. "Why I did It, God only
knows, but I was blinded by the light
of his ancestry."
"You might have done worse, you
know," Scott sneered. "There weren't
many opportunities left, you know,
after your well-known intimacy with"
—here he looked toward Paul—"tho
bricklayer's son."
Paul had been standing silently by,
his face heavy and dull with despair,
his heart unutterably sad within him,
as the "queerness" of all the last few
days became understandable.
He sprang at Scott, his face distort-
ed horribly, his teeth bared, a low
animal sound coming from his throat,
and his hands shaking fearfully as
they found their way to the other's
throat. For the length of half a min-
ute he held him thus—then, a sudden
loathing for the resistless creature be-
fore him took the place of his fury,
and he flung him, choking, to the
ground.
When Scott recovered, a few min-
utes after, he learned, from the hotel
proprietor, that Ann, Bess and Paul
had hastily left for town. He started
immediately in pursuit, sure fhat Ann
had for her destination the office of
her attorney.
He arrived at Rodgers' office Just
in time to hear Ann, through the
closed door of the private office, fin-
ishing her story to the astounded at-
torney
"—my fortune is gone. Now I want
a divorce from that yellow thing
called a blue blood."
Scott came In as she finished.
"One moment, please," he said. "You
travel fast. Too fast. True, your
declaration of our marriage has for-
feited your part of the fortune"—here
a cunning, insolent smile shaped his
mouth—"but if you dare to push this
divorce suit"—his voice became em-
phatically slow and intense—"I'll drag
in your sister's name, and blacken It
in the eyes of the whole world—ut-
terly Do you understand? Utterly!
Yes, I know that your fortune has
been forfeited; rather stupid of you,
don't you think? But we'll manage.
I know j'our sister will gladly share
her part with us'—he accentuated
For Half a Minute He Held Him Thus.
the word hideously—"if she would
protect her reputation.'*
Ann stood back, appalled, unable to
conceal her knowledge that she was
powerless. She knew he would go to
any lengths to compromise Bess, in-
nocent as she was, in the eyes of the
world, and realized how easy that
would be. She would rather have
suffered anything than have exposed
Bess' fair name to this slander, and
the world's contempt, and realized
with resigned despair that he was
aware of her nature, and was playing
on it—realized that she must live out
her days with a man sfee loathed—
realized it and was helpless to
avoid It.
She had paid dearly for her wor-
ship of "class," and would pay and
pay and pay ndlessly.
Bess" young dream of love had de-
generated to a hideous nightmare.
Paul stood by, the bright air castles
of his youth burying in their tumbled
debris his aspiring soul.
The Family Tree had borne its fruit
WHO PAYS?
End of Seventh Story.
The next story Is "Today and To
morrow."
Upcoming Pages
Here’s what’s next.
Search Inside
This issue can be searched. Note: Results may vary based on the legibility of text within the document.
Tools / Downloads
Get a copy of this page or view the extracted text.
Citing and Sharing
Basic information for referencing this web page. We also provide extended guidance on usage rights, references, copying or embedding.
Reference the current page of this Newspaper.
Burke, J. J. The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 3, No. 93, Ed. 1 Monday, October 11, 1915, newspaper, October 11, 1915; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc113068/m1/2/: accessed April 24, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.